


a one time offer, he said

by highrollers



Series: the fallout; it was supposed to be the end [2]
Category: Sadie Sparks
Genre: Character Study, everyone is ooc and at this point idc anymore, honestly what did you expect??, picks up from the last fic ig??, post S1, unoblivious sam should be a tag and i'm making it one, what happens when there's a love triangle (there's bound to be trouble)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highrollers/pseuds/highrollers
Summary: Because it wasn't enough that she barely has time to see him, but now her partner is coming into the shop and trying to lose you in the dust. Love wasn't supposed to be a competition, they usually say.A one time offer (to back down with his life intact), he said.
Series: the fallout; it was supposed to be the end [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025130





	a one time offer, he said

It was nearly closing time, which meant it was just Sam in the family shop, cleaning up the tables and spraying the windows for the next day. Usually at this time one to a few of his friends or classmates would jump in (why at the last five minutes he could give a wild guess) and talk to him and most the time—at least in the last month when his little brother started teething—he could barely stay awake while giving them a last minute drink and would sleep on one of the chairs before waking up, finding the place clean and near sparkling. Somehow they would find a way to ignore the praises he lavished upon them and not bloat up in self-importance, instead just giving him a look.

These days, he would spend his nights wondering what exactly did they mean by that look.

A ring sounded from the door. He looked around, expecting a friendly face or at least _someone_ he was on friendly terms with, opening his mouth to strike up a conversation with the late visitor. And promptly dropped his cleaning rag on the ground at the sight with a muffled squeak.

It was _The_ Guy. Already sitting on one of the clean chairs with one earphone in his ear and a bored face that practically drawled ‘what’s taking you so long?’. The one who hanged out with Sadie and bantered with her in such an easy way that made him just wistful thinking about it. Smooth and quick on his feet, never stopping, never wishing.

The guy who had everything, his heart whispered.

“Er, how can I help you?” he asked, picking up the washcloth and placing it onto the countertop. _Be smooth_ , he mentally coached himself, _don’t show weakness_.

He didn’t even bother to look up from his phone. “By getting me a drink for a start."

“Yes, but,” Sam tried not to snap back, remembering the way The Guy so easily coaxed out a reaction from Sadie. The kind that usually made storms seem calm in comparison. “What kind of drink, specifically? You weren’t _exactly_ clear about it.”

The Guy rolled his eyes, flipping away that ridiculously smooth hair to look him straight in the eye. “ _Fine_ , Mr _Perfect_. I want papaya and banana with almond milk and—” he looked back at his phone, muttering about ‘weird choices’ and ‘why do I bother?’, “—another one with peach and whatever berries you got along with honey. Berries that are edible of course, I don’t want a poisoning on my hands. I have enough problems as it is.”

Sam blinked. Multiple times. “Yeeaahh I’ll get back to you.” He went through the back doors, before slapping his head (not too hard of course) and walking to the front again. “Both with almond milk?”

The Guy looked up at him as if he grew a third eye on his head. “Yeah? What did you think?”

He just grumbled before once more entering the back, trying to make the smoothies as fast as he could so he could kick out the unwanted visitor and go into moping alone. As he searched around for spare honey (he had a sinking feeling who ordered that one specifically), the boy inserted another earphone into his ear and started to scroll through pages; sometimes smirking at random intervals while others times he would either hold his peace or reply to whatever evoked a rare laugh from his mouth. After one message that made him snarl and slap the phone down on the table with a resounding smack, he smothered his face on its surface (the table, not the phone) and mumbled something.

Sam wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t being asked a question. “Did you ask me something?” he politely edged out.

The teen lifted his head up to see him and then slumped back down. “Mm yes,” he rumbled. “Do you always take this long?”

He huffed out a surprised laugh. “Out of all of the things to ask me… I’m only taking slow because I’m tired and it’s the end of the day. You are testing the water here coming in this late.”

The Guy turned his head so he was facing him. “What if I said it was for your lover?”

He hacked out a cough at that, knocking over one of the cups. He used the excuse to cover his rapidly reddening face. “E-Excuse me?”

He rolled his eyes dispassionately (such a lie, he could smell it a mile away). “Lover, girlfriend, whatever. It basically means the same thing, right?”

“Not in my book.” That earnt him another eyeroll. Whatever. “Well then I would assume you're trying to get a freebie and say that you would have to pay for both smoothies, thank you very much. Girlfriends only get discounts when they come in person. Not,” he looked over the counter to see him smirk, “just for their eccentric acquaintance who just might drink both of them for show. Or spill the other one into the lake.” Not a whole truth: he wouldn't just give discounts willy-nilly whenever she came, but he didn't need to know that.

Somehow The Guy drank it up like gospel and took his word, rising up to the bait. “But what if I spill it on her? Then it's not a total waste.” A dramatic flutter of his eyes. Sam shook his head, grabbing the pieces of mango he just cut and putting them into the blender to mix.

“Then I guess you would have a very angry person on your heels for days and I hope that you got your will written out because she is _relentless_.”

He gave a chuckle at that, “Well played, Sam.”

Sam started, losing his firm push on the blender, which slowed down before stopping altogether. “How did you—”

“If you’re wondering,” he said, sitting up and leaning on the chair, “she talks enough for the whole world. About everyone, everything, you know?” Then he slapped his hands on his mouth, glaring outside past the glass. Sam had no reaction to that (not that he _wouldn't_ admit to that blunder) and in that moment of inattentiveness accidently slipped the knife on his finger.

“Fuck,” he swore, dropping the blade and sucking the blood from the cut. The Guy looked up at him, green eyes unnaturally wide as Sam grabbed the nearest tissue and pushed it against the deep wound, watching it darken with morbid interest. Then the heartbeat passed and he shook his head as nothing happened, tying the tissue around his finger and poured one of the made smoothies into one of the cups, passing it over onto the counter. The other teen gave him a look, one that differed from the others but had such similar roots it made him feel as if his very soul was being picked at.

“What do you want?” he demanded. “Never heard someone swear?” That got The Guy to look down at his lap, suddenly looking at a scroll that he pulled out from some pocket or something (who looks at scrolls these days?) before swearing himself and pulling out a pen from the same place. Sam just shook his head and got the ingredients for the next smoothie (barring the honey, which he already got and slipped a little into the other one accidently only by _pure exhaustiveness_ and _nothing else_ ), ignoring the amount of blood that has already started to slip out of the makeshift bandage.

Wincing at the pain, he gingerly got the knife again and cut up a peach. The Guy, seemingly finished with his note (which looked like it disappeared?), glanced up and gave him a cocky smile. “So,” he drawled, “do you really take this long with the whole making stuff? Or do your just really hate me?”

Sam simply raised an eyebrow without looking up, focused on not cutting his fingers. “I thought I already answered before, but maybe a little both, if you want honesty.” The teen groaned and started to pace on the tiled floor, bored out of any potential sports. He couldn’t help but revel in his annoyance.

The Guy realized this and stopped in his tracks, shoving his face right up the counter. “You’re just trying to bait me, aren’t you? Sneaky little… why I ought to…”

“Give me your name for a start,” Sam simply said, pressing the button to make the last smoothie of the day. The other teen blinked.

“Give me your… did she never tell you about me?”

He grimaced, accidently putting pressure on the deep cut. More blood seeped out of it and he grabbed another tissue, tying it around the old one. “I mean, I’ve seen you around before, a lot. Especially in the corridors for some reason. I’ve seen you talking to her like an old friend, but still manage to hate each other to the ends of the earth. In all honesty, even if she didn’t avoid talking about you like the plague I would still never know a thing about you.” _And you know so much about me_ , he wanted to add so desperately. _And maybe you know something about this place, about what’s happening._

But he just bit his tongue and kept on stirring the smoothie (even though he knows he shouldn’t; with the late hour, keeping a customer late was the last thing he should be doing, especially if it was him). Testing the waters himself, he toed the line while The Guy was still in shock. “Also been meaning to ask, have you noticed anything weird around here?”

It was the other teen’s turn to start, hand unconsciously moving away from the smoothie on the table and closer to his sides as he sat up straighter. “There’s nothing wrong,” he lied and Sam just _wished_ that for once—a minute, a second—that someone would just give him straight answers.

It was a late hour, and he was delaying and pushing and he _knew_ he shouldn’t push for answers, especially ever since that day he could’ve sworn he saw a dragon near the lake and just suddenly black out halfway through pushing it back (even though he wasn’t feeling tired or lightheaded at all) only to find himself in the middle of town with a moustache drawn on his face at sundown with several hours of the day lost and unaccounted for. And that didn’t even cover half the things he’d seen or heard or experienced over the years he was spending over here.

So what he was so tired of having to turn a blind eye when he gets trampled by cupcakes or being thrown into a room with a bucket on his head and arms tied to a chair or literally floating during gym practice that one time? Of being tossed aside by a horde of people who in the last second were totally sane or having totally normal weather going from melt-your-butt-off hot to freeze-your-babies cold?

Of never having the chance to properly tell her his feelings.

Of never having the chance to stay with her, just an evening alone, because she was always swamped with stuff. Stuff that kept her away from him and closer to the other guy and he knew it was hopeless, that if they had anything to do with the weird things that happened it would make sense to not give a peep about it.

“Don’t lie,” he ached to say. “I know, you can trust me, I know, I know.”

(“What does she see in you?” he wanted to ask)

But instead he just bit his tongue and poured a bit more milk into the cup. The Guy squinted at him with narrowed eyes before giving out a sigh.

“Blaine.” Sam paused for a few seconds, enough for the other guy to stand up again. “My name,” he clarified.

“Blaine,” he ran the name through his tongue, feeling it settle with a bitter taste. “I would say mines but you already know.”

The Guy (Blaine, he knows) gave a shrug that said volumes about how sorry he felt for knowing. Which wasn’t a lot, by the looks of it. Sam just wordlessly passed on the last smoothie to him, already getting ready to walk back and call it a day once it for all (not even bothering to clean up after him) (he just wanted to leave). He couldn’t care about what the others reaction was, he just wanted him gone.

“Goodbye,” Sam said stiffly, putting the dirty dishes into the sink and walking towards the back door. When his hand touched the handle, though, the smooth timbre of The Guy’s voice echoed in the too small space.

“You really do love her, don’t you? Even though she’s not the only one you love, you really think it’ll work out?” A wolf in a sheep’s clothing if he ever saw one. No, scratch that, a snake in the grass (an obvious danger and yet-)

“Yeah.”

Sam didn’t turn back but for a second he could swear he saw a flash of red and blue in the corner of his eyes before Blaine shuffled his feet, ready to go too. “If you’re wondering who I am, what I have with her, forget it, okay? There is nothing good from knowing too much, and she’s already lost too many a person to—you know what, just forget it. Leave her alone, let someone else be with her.”

He couldn’t stop himself, even if he tried. “Someone like you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you do love her.” Damn, he should know not to dig his own holes and yet he just couldn’t help it. It would've been ironic, if it wasn't such a pain. It felt like a forbidden fruit, finally being able to spill at least a little of what he knew to someone who would listen, even if it was the rival. The snake in heaven, prompting him to bite into the fruit.

Green eyes, like hers but more darker as if in the shade. Sam didn’t turn back but instinctively knew that he was staring at him, holding the handle of the outside world. To see her, to be with her, to spend more time with her that he would never have. Somehow he couldn’t make himself hate him as much as he wanted to. “What if I did? She’s too busy looking at the guy running a nobody shack to notice a hole in the road, even if it’s in front of her.” He gave a chuckle, as if he just made some dark joke that only they were privy to. Then he sobered. “I’ll admit, you make good smoothies, but for the love of all things good and pure just leave her alone. She’s already going through enough as it is. She needs someone steady.”

“So is this a one time offer thing?”

A beat too long. Then, “I guess you could call it that.”

He tightened his grip on his own handle, willing himself to breathe. “And what if I say no?”

“Then I can’t say I’ll be so forgiving next time.”

Sam frowned, before shaking his head and opening the door. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, to think that you can control us. But I’m not going to give up on her so easily. She was so nice even before we started going out, and a great person to boot. She's quick-thinking and witty and passionate even though she can get a little over the top sometimes and she protects the ones she cares about with her everything. Even if it means she gets hurt herself.” If he looked back, he would've seen him flinch and rub his wrists, where yellow bruises still blotched his skin (dangers of having a snake, he would've mumbled, ~~and maybe the conversation would've changed~~ ). "And yeah, I would wish she didn't jump into the middle of everything sometimes but I would never give her up, not so soon and not so easily. If this was a story, she's the everyday hero, the ones with the right solution at the right time. Who are you to ask that anyways?"

“You want to know who I am? I’m the one who sabotages her projects, who is better than her in the eyes of those she cares about, who hurts her countless times before and will countless times after.”

He could hear so many things in those words, just one foot into his real home, so many emotions and doubt and pain and longing and such shameless pride in his voice. 

A tinkling of the bell as he left. Then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear through the glass—

[“I guess you could say I’m the bad guy.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xv7352_b8lI)

And it was just him again, alone in between the smoothie shop and the house, always wishing, always hurting. Wondering if he made the right choice.

**Author's Note:**

> later, by the pier
> 
> s: so what held you up? you were taking an awfully long while in coming here  
> b: just trying to fix something  
> s: and did you?  
> b:...  
> b: wouldn't you like to know
> 
> back in the shop, in his bed, into his pillow:  
> s: aaaaAAAAAAAAAAA-


End file.
